What You've Left Behind
by Princess Sammi
Summary: 'She wants to go home, but nobody's home; it's where she lies, broken inside'. On the eve of the inspection, Constance Hardbroom's fight or flight instincts duelled it out, and flight won.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'The Worst Witch'.  
**

**A/N: Hi folks :) **

**This was inspired from yet another one of P. Sammi's famous ' nostalgic music sessions', the week before last. It is something *just* a little bit different to anything I have written before, but I thought I would give it a wee try. At the moment, it looks as though it will be between four and six chapters long. **

**Much of my inspiration came from the wonderful song 'Nobody's Home', by Avril Lavigne.**

**Hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

**What You've Left Behind  
**

**Chapter One**

_Haunted._

_They all knew she was haunted._

_It was an unspoken yet well-known truth._

_After all, despite the lengths she went to hide it, it was obvious._

_It was there in the way she carried herself, as though the world would implode if she dropped the act for even a minute, the weight of the world seemingly bore on her narrow shoulders. It was there in the way she would flinch, ever so slightly, if anyone got too close to her proximity when the contact was not on her terms. It was there in her eyes: hurt, sadness, pain, loneliness, all of them shone through in the deep brown of her irises._

_Haunted._

_They all knew she was haunted._

_Yet none of them knew why._

_They had speculated, of course they had, but none of them had even scratched the surface. No one had any idea, until one day, a letter had turned up unexpectedly._

_It told of an upcoming inspection and beyond that, it told of something much deeper._

* * *

Carefully lowering herself onto the ground, her sensitive nose tingling as it picked up the scent of freshly cut grass, she let out a far from content sigh. Tears of frustration stung the back of her eyes, as they always did whenever she came here.

She _had_ to stop doing this.

After the last time, she had promised herself that she would no longer come here, simply because it was too painful, but the promise had been in vain. She had made that promise to herself, already knowing that she could not keep it. Like a moth drawn to a flame, she would return, time after time, feeling her heart ripping in two every single time.

Brushing a wayward strand of hair from her eyes, she twirled it around her finger. Despite having cut it a few years ago, she had yet to get used to her now shoulder-length hair. Right back, as far as she could remember, she had had long hair; she had never known any different, but it was one - of several things - that she had changed.

She missed her long locks.

Although the Rapunzel-esque fantasies, had long since died, there had been something about the dark tresses that had acted as a sort of security blanket. They had made her feel safer, somehow, and as if, she was _actually_ in control. Cutting them had been a lot harder than she had first thought and it had in fact taken rather a few glasses of Dutch courage before she had been able to make the chop. Seeing the hair lying on the ground had been heart breaking, it was as though she had lost a part of her identity.

Then again, she always did have a hard time letting go, unable to relinquish her hold of the past…

...or was it the hold the past had over her?

She didn't know.

In all honesty, she didn't know anything anymore, and the more she thought about it, maybe she never had.

Looking up to the sky, subconsciously searching for answers she knew she would never find, she blinked away the loose tears that were threatening to fall, her eyes taking in the familiar sight of teenage witches, soaring clear across the sky on their broomsticks, clearly headed back towards Cackle's.

A small smile had graced her lips but as soon as her thoughts turned to Cackle's, it disappeared to nothing and the ache in her heart increased tenfold.

Cackle's…

Though to some it may have seemed as if it were only yesterday, four and half years had now passed since she had left Cackle's Academy. Or rather, four and a half years had now passed, since she had _fled_ Cackle's Academy. A rash decision made under a moment of suffocating fear, and one that she had punished herself for every day since.

Four and a half years of self-hatred.

Four and a half years of shame.

Four and a half years of regret.

And there was no one to blame but herself.

Selfish.

She had been so unbelievably selfish.

It was a quality she never used to associate with herself. Her own needs always coming second to the wellbeing of others, always ready and willing to sacrifice her life to protect them, but now, it was so true she may as well have branded it on her forehead.

Selfish.

She had upped and left, in the dead of night, without so much as a word, leaving them all to deal with the inspection, while she had taken the cowards way out. Fleeing from the only real home she had ever known, rather than face the source of her every nightmare; the woman who still haunted her to the very core.

Heckitty Broomhead.

The first time she had met her, at the tender age of fourteen, there had been an instant feeling of dread. Her brain practically screaming out at her that to trust this woman, would be a mistake, but the other choice - to stay with her mother, made it the lesser of two evils.

Or so she had believed.

Relentless.

Demanding.

Thorough.

Heckitty Broomhead was indeed the evil incarnate.

She had tormented her every single minute of every single day that had been spent under her so-called 'care'. And now, years later, the mere mention of the woman's name was still enough to send her into a panicked frenzy, immediately stamping out any confidence she had and rendering her the stuttering young girl she had once been.

'Heckitty Broomhead'.

It twisted her insides into knots so tight that it made her feel physically sick.

'Heckitty Broomhead'.

It stoppered her ability to breathe, like a bony hand crushing down on her windpipe and cutting off her oxygen supply.

'Heckitty Broomhead'.

It caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up on red alert.

'Heckitty Broomhead'.

It made her head spin, throwing up memories and emotions that she had tried to bury deep inside, and laughing at her as they continued to resurface, like a wooden chest that just would not sink to the bottom of the murky waters.

'Heckitty Broomhead'.

It sent a fear coursing through her veins that was colder than any ice could ever be.

As past memories took hold, she gently closed her eyes, only able to watch as the all too familiar horror show played out before her. The images, hazy and broken, flashed in her mind, flicking from one memory to the next.

* * *

**_Strands of dark magic filled the air, their sparks twisting and turning as they hissed dangerously, like a venomous cobra. She could hear the sparks of electricity, as they crackled and fizzed around her, and she could see them as they danced through the air in a display of graceful anarchy, but she could do nothing to stop them, nor could she prevent the inevitable. Still weakened from Heckitty's latest attack, she lay sprawled, haphazardly, across the flagstone, tears stinging her eyes as her every muscle and nerve-ending burned in a pure and unrelenting agony. Her vision was tunnelling and her exhausted mind teetering on the brink of unconsciousness. _**

**_As they flew towards her, she was unable to move out of the way and, as they engulfed her all over, she hadn't the energy to even scream. _**

**_ All she was aware of was a cold and cruel laugh, ringing out in her ears, as it reverberated around the room..._**

* * *

_**The sound of tears, of begging…pleading…**_

_**Harsh words…**_

_**A manaical laughter…**_

_**Blood pooled across the stone floor…**_

_**Screaming, so much screaming…**_

_**Snakelike eyes burning into her own like a laser beam, reaching in and tearing out her soul…**_

* * *

_**Broken glass littered the floor, glistening in the sun like tiny diamonds. Next to the broken glass, lay the stopper for the vial. **_

_**The vial containing the deadly poison that she had just been force-fed.  
**_

_****__**Yellow eyes simply looked menacingly at her, watching on in sheer amusement as she struggled to breathe, as she coughed and spluttered, her eyes wide with terror. Offering no assistance, they watched as she frantically clawed at the thinning air around her, desperately trying to force some oxygen into her lungs, before the owner left the room, leaving her to her fate..**_

* * *

Visibly shaking under the weight of her own emotions, she slowly opened her eyes, cursing as a tear finally broke free from its barrier and trickled down her cheek. It was followed by another, and then another. Gazing silently at her reflection in the still waters of the river, she wondered when exactly she had become so weak.

Maybe Heckitty had been right after all...

Wiping fiercely under her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to rid herself of any evidence of her crying, scared to be caught in even a moment of weakness or give anyone ammunition that could be used against her, she swallowed the rising lump of emotion in her throat.

The guilt.

_Guilty. Guilty. Guilty._

She had tried.

She had tried so very hard, but as soon as she had heard the identity of the inspector, it had been like a ticking time bomb, just waiting to explode:

'Tick… tick… tick…'.

All the while, a voice rang out in her mind; the same words, over and over again.

'I'm coming to get you'.

Her level of fear had risen so far, it was out of her control.

Her eyes never leaving the clock on her bedroom wall, just watching as the hands went round and round.

Tick...tick...tick..'.

Watching as the hours passed by and as her day of judgement drew ever closer; watching until her mind had reached its breaking point.

'Tick...tick...tick'.

She couldn't take it anymore.

She couldn't...

She couldn't do it.

She couldn't face her…

She had to get out...

She had to leave.

* * *

After she graduated from Witch Training College, she had ran. Vowing never to look back and determined to make something of her life - or what little she had left of it - but it had been so much harder than she had anticipated.

She had been lost; so incredibly lost, and then, right at her lowest moment of despair, she had found so much more than she could ever have hoped for, than she could have dreamed of.

She had found Cackle's Academy.

A rare beacon of light in an otherwise darkened world.

There she had found a sanctuary.

She had found a sense of belonging and a purpose, but more than any of that, she had found something much more precious.

She had found a family.

Slowly, the wounds of the past had begun to heal a little more each day and, finally, she started to regain hope; she felt as if she was finally starting to move forward with her life, putting the past behind her and laying old demons to rest.

The re-appearance of Heckiity Broomhead had not only opened those wounds again, but had set them bleeding so much that it just wouldn't stop, spilling over and tainting everything she had worked so hard for. Once more, she had found herself running again.

Only this time, there had been no light at the end of the tunnel and no one to come and save her.

_'Failure, Constance...You'll always be destined for failure'._

Looking back at the castle, she bit down on her lip; something she hadn't done since she was a teenager.

She was supposed to protect them, but instead she had let them all down.

Heckitty was right...

She was a failure.

* * *

Humming a new composition that she was in the midst of working on, having been struck by a sudden flash of inspiration earlier on that morning, Davina Bat skipped merrily through the forest. Her footing was light and childlike as she bounded along, full steam ahead, the trees whizzing by her in a blur of greens and browns.

Today was a good day, she had decided, and there was just so much to be thankful for. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and the flowers were in full bloom once again and what's more, they tasted utterly delicious!

As she exited the forest, she stopped, taking in the view of the majestic castle that lay in the distance beyond. It was strange how different Cackle's looked, when one was looking at it from the other side of the river. Nevertheless, it still managed to make her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She loved Cackle's Academy more than anything; it was her home, and it was where her family was.

She couldn't even imagine not being there.

Gazing at it for a few moments longer, she smiled, before she turned her attention back to her small wicker basket, already imagining the tasty delights of flower petals that she would soon be consuming...

Her mind was full of flowers and sweet harmonies when, from nowhere, a sudden thought had entered it, and was now nagging away at the forefront of her mind.**  
**

_'Had that be-?_

_ No, it couldn't be…_

_… Could it?'_

Slowly, she turned her attention to the river bank. There had been a lone figure sat there when she had arrived but she hadn't paid much attention to them at the time, but now she surveyed them properly...

Her eyes widened in disbelief as shock permeated her whole system. The basket fell to the ground, flowers spilling out in all directions, but she didn't seem to notice.

The basket lay completely and utterly forgotten about as she slowly approached the figure, her mind absolutely reeling.

"Constance?" she questioned, tentatively.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own 'The Worst Witch'.**

**A/N: Many thanks to typicalRAinbow, lets get xiggy with it, and guest, for their lovely reviews. :)**

* * *

**What You've Left Behind**

**Chapter Two**

She could feel the magical aura from miles away, as its remnants travelled through the air. The magical signature wasn't particularly strong, but it wasn't weak either. She knew that she should probably make tracks and materialise before it gained in proximity but, for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to move. She remained seated, in the exact same position, her gaze vacant as she stared off into the distance, still unable to tear herself away from the majestic castle that stood so close and yet so far from her reach.

The magic was getting stronger as it neared closer to where she was sat. Not that the signature was even needed as a form of identification - you always could hear Davina Bat coming a mile off. No matter how quiet she tried to be she still managed to sound like herd of elephants.

Still, she couldn't bring herself to disappear.

The waters reflected the scene behind her and she watched on as the chanting teacher exited the forest, completely oblivious to her surroundings and firmly engrossed in her basket, before she had looked over, briefly, then turned her attention back to her flowers.

She observed her for a few moments; Davina was exactly how Constance had remembered her: a mass of frizzy curls, which rather resembled a bird's nest, and the same daydream like expression as she wandered about, humming a nonsensical tune - no doubt a self-composed Davina Bat special. Suddenly, Davina looked back towards the river and stopped dead in her tracks, the contents of her basket spilling out over the grass as it fell from her grasp, landing with a soft thud.

'Busted'.

Constance thought, allowing herself the briefest of smiles at her use of what she would term 'colloquial language'.

"Constance?" A voice behind her had tentatively questioned.

"Davina." She greeted politely, without turning around.

* * *

If anyone had told Davina Bat that she would voluntarily be sitting at the riverbank, with Constance Hardbroom, she would never have believed them in a million years. Then again, if anyone had ever told her that Constance Hardbroom would leave Cackles Academy, she would have never believed that either.

Life was funny at times.

She remembered all the times, she had locked herself in the stationery cupboard, after a run- in with the younger witch; how, in her moments of upset and anger, she had wished she would do them all a favour and just disappear, but she had never, not even for a second, thought that one day she would actually do it. Constance's sudden departure completely blindsided them; there had been no warning sign, no real explanation, and no chance to stop her.

She knew how much Cackle's Academy meant to the woman who was sat next to her; it had been her life, and so she couldn't even begin to imagine what had brought her to turn her back on it.

There was a heavy silence in the air.

It was not unpleasant, not by any means, but there was an atmosphere of awkwardness surrounding the two witches as they wondered what to say to each other. It struck them both that in all the years they had spent working together, they had never really conversed.

Constance stole a glance in Davina's direction, silently wondering what she must be thinking, before she broke the contact, quickly looking away before she could catch her eye, so ashamed was she still of her own actions of cowardice.

As the minutes passed, each one stretching out and lasting for what felt like a lifetime, the silence began to grow heavier and Constance found herself wishing that she had dematerialised as soon as she had felt the chanting teacher's presence was in the vicinity.

Observing the brunette, Davina noted that she was still the same powerful beauty that she remembered: she was just as tall and just as thin; the only real difference was her hair. For as long she had known Constance, her waist-length hair had always been coiffed into an elegant bun, and worn loose on special occasions, such as Halloween, but now it fell just past her shoulders, cascading in loose curls. It was nice; it suited her, but it wasn't the Constance she knew.

Then again, how well had she ever known her to begin with?

How well had any of them known her?

Constance had held them all at such a distance they had never really had a chance to, not really, and penetrating the witch's armour had been near impossible. Davina had always suspected that the 'queen bitch' act had been just that: an act. She had seen, on many occasions, just how much Constance had been prepared to sacrifice to keep the school and those in it from harm. The mask had merely been a façade. Nothing more than a tool, a way of keeping people away from her, ensuring she could never be hurt again.

It was obvious to the chanting teacher that the younger witch had been hurt in the past.

Aside from her musical talents, Miss Bat had always had the ability to read auras: Constance's was strong; stronger than any she had encountered previously. It burned bright, testament to her great power, but that great power was overshadowed by something much greater; a deep and lingering sense of pain.

Just what happened to her to create such sorrow?

The answer to that question lay with Constance Hardbroom...

...and also with Heckitty Broomhead.

Davina Bat wasn't as scatterbrain as everyone thought she was. She knew that the inspector was somehow involved. After all, until the arrival of that letter had caused the start of the mass destruction, all had been well. She had only met Heckitty Broomhead once, but once had been enough to last a lifetime. The woman was exactly how Constance had described her.

* * *

_**"Constance, please."**_

_**She hurried along behind Amelia and was followed by Imogen as they chased the deputy headmistress down the corridor, surprised at how fast the witch could outrun them when she was on foot.**_

_**After Constance had voiced her ominous warning, time had collapsed in on itself and although it had seemed like hours, in reality, only mere minutes had passed by. Without saying another word, Constance had slowly stood on her shaking limbs and, almost as if she were in a trance, had headed for the door. Her colleagues too shocked by her reaction to register that she had left the staffroom in the conventional manner and not even attempted to materialise away in her usual fashion.**_

_**Everyone wanted to ask; it was the burning question on everyone's lips but at the same time they were too afraid of the answer they may receive if they did. **_

_**Davina exchanged a look with both Amelia and Imogen and, almost simultaneously, they headed for the door. All three of them hot on the heels of their usually unflappable colleague and all three of them utterly dumbfounded at the reaction the normally so stoic woman had had upon hearing the name of the inspector. It just didn't make any sense. **_

_**Heckitty Broomhead.**_

_**Who was she?**_

_**Judging from the way Constance had reacted, it appeared the answer to that question was 'bad news'; whoever this Heckitty Broomhead was, it did not bode well. **_

_**The only sounds that could be heard in the corridor were the sound of footsteps as they clicked against the flagstone and the sound of Constance breathing in and out, trying to keep her rapidly unravelling composure intact and prevent a display she didn't want anybody to ever witness. **_

_**Davina suspected that although Constance was trying to get away, it wasn't her colleague's she was trying to run from: it was whatever was going through her mind. **_

_**"At least tell us who this woman is, for goodness sake!" Amelia snapped, frustration building in her veins. How could she protect her school and its inhabitants if she didn't know what she was up against?**_

_**To no avail.**_

_**Constance continued to run away from the conversation and from giving the explanation she knew was needed.**_

_**Davina didn't know what to think, nor did she know what to say, but she felt she should say something, to at least try to be of some use.**_

_**"If she has a reputation, Constance, shouldn't we be warned?!"**_

_**That seemed to do it.**_

_**Constance stopped abruptly before she turned to face her colleagues.**_

_**The first thing Davina noticed was her eyes.**_

_**Fear.**_

_**Pure unadulterated fear filled the brown of her irises and while her eyes were usually narrowed in one of her infamous stares, now they were wide-eyed; like a rabbit caught in the headlights, and glazed over from the tears Constance was struggling to not let fall. She had never seen such fear in anyone's eyes before, not least in the strongest witch that she knew.**_

_**Constance opened her mouth to explain, but paused before speaking again, evidently struggling to find the right words, the shakiness in her voice telling her discomfort at discussing this particular topic.**_

_**"Mistress Heckitty Broomhead was my personal tutor at Witch Training College. She more or less taught me everything I know," Here she gave a small smile, one which didn't quite meet her watery eyes. She paused, briefly, before continuing on. "She's quite the most thorough, demanding and relentless witch I've ever come across."**_

_**The words hung in the rapidly suffocating air.**_

_**"That's nice." Davina squeaked.**_

_**"We drew the short straw there then." Imogen piped up.**_

_**Amelia had yet to comment. Instead she was looking at her deputy with concern etched on her features; she wanted to know more, but it was neither the time nor the place.**_

_**"Right," she stepped towards Constance before stopping and turning her attention back to the others. "Well, at least we know what we're up against. I suggest we call a meeting of the whole school."**_

_**Davina caught Constance's eye and the look of 'No. No you don't; you haven't got a clue what we're up against'.**_

_** "In the meantime, "Amelia continued, turning back towards Constance, "draw up an emergency plan of action. It's obvious that tomorrow, absolutely nothing must go wrong."**_

_**Constance remained silent, unable to do anything but simply nod. **_

_**Davina stole another glance at the powerful sorceress who looked as though she didn't know whether to collapse to the floor in a dead faint or sink to it in a sobbing heap, and could feel her own fear increase tenfold.  
**_

_**If this Heckitty Broomhead was enough to scare Constance Hardbroom, then one thing was clear: they were in trouble.**_

* * *

The words echoed in her mind.

' She more or less taught me everything I know', the pained flash of a smile confirming that whilst this was the case, it had come at a heavy price.

Again, she subtly glanced over at the younger woman; so many questions running through her mind.

What had happened?

Why had she left?

Where had she gone?

...Was she happy?

She hoped she was, it was the very least she deserved.

* * *

Well, this is awkward."

Constance's voice suddenly broke into her thoughts. She wasn't sure whether or not she had imagined it but there seemed to have been a slight hint of humour laced in the statement.

"Yes, " Davina answered, feeling as if she was a first year about to be reprimanded. "H-how are you, Constance?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

Davina looked at the red and bloodshot eyes; it was clear she had been crying, the faint trace of dried in tear tracks visible on her cheeks, but made no remark. 'I'm fine' was Constance's go to phrase, even when it was blantantly apparent that the opposite was true - maybe she hadn't changed that much after all...

"And you?" The potions mistress inquired.

"Y-yes I can't complain."

"I'm glad to hear it."

They sat like that for a while, both acknowledging, but loathe to admit they were actually enjoying each other's company.

... Perhaps they had both been wrong?

"I should go," Constance eventually voiced quietly, yet she made no attempt to move. Her eyes glazing over slightly as she continued to stare at the castle, the longing in her eyes clear for all to see.

Noticing where her focus was, from somewhere deep inside, Davina somehow found a courage she had never previously possessed - especially when it came to Constance Hardbroom - and, knowing this could be her one and only chance, she decided to voice what was on her mind and in her heart.

"I-I don't know why you felt that you had no choice but to leave, Constance…I don't know what Heckitty did to you." She felt her heart lurch as she saw the normally stoic younger woman flinch upon hearing the dreaded name. "I -I won't ask you to tell me as it's none of my business, but just remember, even though you left, you can always go back... Amelia, she -we miss you, Constance; we need you. Cackle's Academy just isn't the same without Constance Hardbroom."

Upon hearing Davina's speech, Constance immediately stiffened, her dark eyes looking from the castle to the chanting teacher, and then back again.

Silence befell them once again, even the birds had stopped chirping away their merry tune and the momentary boost of confidence Davina had mustered had faltered and died away to nothing. She shouldn't have said anything…she should have kept her mouth shut… she shouldn't h-

Constance shook her head before she slowly turned to face Davina, the tears silently streaming down her cheeks.

"I can't," she whispered softly, "I'm sorry."

Wanting nothing more than to take her in her arms and wipe away all her sorrow, Davina gently placed her hand upon that of the potions mistress, in a gesture of what she hoped was comfort, instantly feeling the slight quaver beneath her at Constance's reaction to the unfamiliar contact.

" Me too..."

There was no use in trying to push her.

"I understand. Take care, Constance."

With that she stood, brushing the loose grass from her dress, and headed off to retrieve her basket.

"Davina?"

Hearing the soft call of her name, she turned back around but there was nobody there.

A familiar voice came from the ether, the gratitude evident in each word spoken.

"Thank you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch.**

**A/N: I've finally gotten around to writing this chapter. I found it rather tricky to write, so I hope it reads okay. I *may* do a slight revision at a later date. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and followed. :) And now, I'm off to play catch-up on my reading and reviewing of all the wonderful fics out there. :)**

* * *

**What You've Left Behind**

**Chapter Three**

She subtly glanced around the potions laboratory and inwardly sighed as she caught sight of the large clock on the wall, the hands telling her that there was still a good thirty minutes left to go before her lesson ended. Her own reaction saddened her for she had never ever thought the day would come, when she lost all interest in her calling, but somewhere along the line - five and a half years ago, to be precise - the spark had died. And now...

Now, it **really** was a mere existence. And that scared her.

Teaching was the only thing that had ever given her a sense of purpose. It was the only thing that was stopping her from falling from the precipice she was currently teetering dangerously on - and had in fact been for longer than she dared to remember - but this time, it was different: never before had she been so close to the edge, and if teaching couldn't save her, then nothing could.

Her eyes scanned the room again, not quite with disinterest, but it wasn't far off it. Taking in her students, the majority of who were working away confidently and calmly as each pair worked on their invisibility potions, only an obvious few who clearly hadn't revised enough looking around in the hope of inspiration or divine intervention, she suddenly felt that all too familiar and gnawing feeling of guilt creeping in.

Oh, yes. If guilt was the role one played, then she was Lady Macbeth.

They hadn't asked for any of this. At the end of the day, they were teenagers, who just wanted to pass their Witches Higher Certificate and move onto the next stage in their lives; it wasn't their fault that she had made such a mess of everything.

Deep down, the logical part of ber brain knew that, but it was as if there was a blockage stopping the information from filtering through to the forefront of her mind. She was so consumed with hatred and anger - mostly towards herself - that she couldn't see straight.

She hated it all. Especially this lab.

Her eyes dropped back down to the book infront of her, biting back the tears that threatened to fall. After re-reading the same sentence for the fifth time and still not taking in the words, she snapped the book shut in her fury, with such a force it caused most of her students to jump.

Physically, there was nothing wrong with the potions laboratory. It was what the lab represented that really drove the knife into her heart day after day:

This lab was a direct result of the mess she had managed to create for herself and a constant reminder that no amount of wishing could clean it up nor turn back the clock.

It was the same as the one in Cackles had been too - if only a tad bigger and with slightly more up-to-date equipment.

Yes, it was exactly the same and yet...it could not have been more different: this one was nothing more than a classroom that she taught in during the hours of the school day; it was empty and impersonal, whereas the one at Cackle's Academy, had been hers.

From the very first moment she had opened the door and stood behind the desk, it had been the perfect fit.

* * *

**_Her eyes flitted around the room, drinking in her new teaching environment and - what was now, essentially - her potions laboratory. It was a sparse classroom and much more basic than she was used to, but there was *something* about its simplistic-ness that she rather liked: it was as it was and did not pretend to be any different._**

**_Ever the observant, she did not fail to spot the irony in her own thought._**

**_She couldn't say, for certain, whether or not she was pretending to be something she wasn't. She suspected as much to be true, but the years of physical abuse and emotional manipulation under the rule of Heckitty Broomhead had blurred the lines of reality, leaving an emotionally exhausted and very confused and lost little girl in its wake._**

**_'Useless'._**

**_The scathing tones reverberated in her mind as she fought to push all the thoughts of her former tutor out, desperate to break the unbelievably strong influence that the tyrant still held over her and showed no signs of letting go any time soon._**

**_'Do you really think you are capable of teaching others, Constance? Hmm...? Enjoy it while it lasts, dear: she'll throw you out as soon as she discovers just what a stupid and weak failure she's hired.'_**

**_She was capable of pulling all her strings - almost effortlessly- in the same way a puppet master works their puppet. And, essentially, that's what she was: Broomhead's puppet. Her every movement, her every thought, her every feeling, all controlled by her malicious mistress. Her glassy eyes silently begging to be rescued, despite already knowing that she would never be free._**

**_Constance shook her head, daring to disagree with her ex-tutor's words as tears stung the back of her eyes. _**

**_'Oh, yes. And then where will you be?'_**

**_Comstance opened her mouth to reply but no words came out._**

**_'That's what I thought'. _**

**_A laugh devoid of any humanity rang in her ears._**

**_Clamping her hands over her ears and squeezing her eyes shut she willed, with everything she had, for peace, and, after a while, the voices died away to nothing. Her troubled mind granted respite..._**

**_...for a little while at least._**

**_Now was not the time to dwell on it._**

**_Not when she had been given the chance for a fresh start, having more or less been physically rescued, by the greying haired angel that was Amelia Cackle..._**

**_Slowly making her way to the front of the room and taking her spot behind the desk, she could not help the small smile, which graced her features, as she looked out at the rows of empty tables and chairs that would be filled with the newest intake of trainee teenage witches in a matter of mere days. Closing her eyes, she was able to visualise herself teaching her young charges and imparting both her knowledge and wisdom; watching on proudly as they each found their "talent" in the years to come._**

**_For the first time, she felt something she hadn't felt in almost fifteen years. _**

**_Hope._**

* * *

When stood behind this desk, all she could see was...

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harlow Willowtree's hand hover the dish of 'Pondweed-Gathered-At-Midnight', as if she were contemplating using it. Suppressing a small smile, she was reminded of the time where Mildred Hubble had done just that, during her first year at Cackles, resulting in turning the assigned laughter potion into an invisibility potion and earning herself a chastisement from her unamused form mistress, along with yet another trip to see the headmistress.

When she stood behind this desk all she could see was all that she had lost.

Disgusted at herself for the undeserving self-pity, she quickly shook herself from her thoughts.

She had made her bed and now, she had to lie on it.

_'Even though you left, you can always go back...'_

The words echoed in her mind and she forced herself to push them aside. It had been exactly a year since her riverside meeting with Davina and the words of the chanting teacher still weighed heavily on her mind and in her heart. Constance knew how much courage it had taken for her to voice them in the first place.

Davina had more brains than she had ever given her credit for.

Alas, yet another misjudgement she had made…

She couldn't go back.

…Could she?

And even if she did, would they even want her back? She highly doubted it. After all, she hadn't exactly gone out of her way to make herself the most popular of teachers. Maybe they had secretly all been glad to see the back of her?

'Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead', and all that.

Of course, that wasn't true. There was a part of her though that _almost_ wished it was because, had that been the case, it would have been so much easier to have walked away from the only place she had ever thought of as home.

'_Amelia, she -we miss you, Constance; we need you. Cackles just isn't the same without Constance Hardbroom'._

Even now, the words truly left the once stoic potions mistress touched. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite as simple as clicking her heels together three times. She only wished it were, she thought, with a wistful sigh.

Life was not a fairy tale though - she knew that, more than most. Sometimes happily ever after just couldn't be; sometimes, no matter how hard good had fought, evil still triumphed.

* * *

**_Drawing a line through the words on the page, she crumpled it up and threw it to the floor, where it joined all the other previously failed attempts. _**

**_The sleeve of her dress had ridden up slightly and she found herself subconsciously tracing the pattern of ugly web-like scars which marred her wrist, and the rest of her carefully concealed body. She was still able to remember everything about them: why the punishment had been inflicted, the method used, the feeling of pain as it had tore through her limbs, burning off her flesh, hot salty tears streaming down her cheeks as she had begged and pleaded for reprieve...the feeling of anguish and helplessness she felt as she finally realised that no one was coming to save her. _**

**_Not today. _**

**_Not tomorrow. _**

**_Not ever. _**

**_Wiping a stray tear from her eye, she picked up her quill and started again..._**

* * *

Amelia Cackle had given her so much. More than she could have ever hoped for: a job, a family, a safe haven, and what had she given her in return?

Two words.

_'I'm sorry'._

She hadn't even had the decency or courage to tell her in person. No, instead the headmistress had found a scrawled piece of parchment on her desk and an absent deputy head, on a day where the unknown but pure evil was descending upon her school.

She had tried, so very very hard, to explain, but the words just wouldn't form on the page. Every sentence seemed so wrong, so stupid and to put it in writing, meant it was true: she couldn't block it out and pretend that none of it had ever happened. Her hand was shaky as she spilled out the truths from her sorry past, her usually neat and calligraphic writing barely recognisable, her level of turmoil rising as she imagined the letter falling into the wrong hands, and the dire consequences that would follow as a result.

Amelia...

Even just thinking about her sent a pang through her heart and she had to bite her lip to keep herself from crying out.

If there was one thing Constance Hardbroom regretted and - let's face it - it was a pretty extensive list, it was that.

Dear, sweet Amelia...

Amelia, who had been more of a mother to her than her own mother ever had, even before her father's death.

Right from the off, the kindly headmistress had treated her as one would treat her own daughter, despite there being no official blood linkage between them; despite the fact she had shut her out time after time; despite knowing the younger witch had clearly been carrying a massive secret. Despite all of that, Amelia had remained undeterred. Never prodding her about the past and never pressurising her, never pushing her into a corner and forcing her to reveal all. No, she had simply waited, calmly and patiently, until Constance had been ready to let her in. Offering any support she could in the meantime, however small and seemingly insignificant it may have been.

It hadn't been the easiest of tasks for the headmistress, and it had taken a while for the ice around her deputy's heart to thaw and for the beginnings of trust to be formed between the pair, but despite Constance's best efforts, it was- in part - futile. She was so deeply traumatised from her years spent under Heckitty's rule and for every wall she sought to bring down, she would instantly and unintentionally erect three more in its place; so desperate to keep the world, which had caused her so much pain and heartache, out of reach.

She was just so scared...

To leave herself that vulnerable and exposed. To strip away the glares and sharp tongue and to reveal what truly lay beneath the carefully constructed mask of indifference and perfectionism.

Eventually, she stopped trying, resigned to facing her demons alone.

It was better that way. More than that, it was safer.

Maybe, subconsciously, she hadn't been able to write that letter because she didn't want to endanger their lives?

Heckitty Broomhead was ruthless: the less they knew, the safer they were.

She closed her eyes gently, feeling the beginnings of tears dampen her lashes. She couldn''t bear it if...

Miss Merryweather?

She instantly snapped out of her reverie, momentarily confused with how she was being addressed, before remembering it was the name she had adopted when she had chosen this school to hide in. It couldn't have been further from 'Hardbroom' if she had tried.

"Yes, Poppy Wolfsbane?"

"The bell rang five minutes ago, Miss..._"_

It seemed as though it had been mere minutes since she had last looked at that clock, but Poppy was right enough: the full half hour had indeed passed.

"Very well then, class dismissed," she said, before adding as an afterthought "And I want your essays in by the end of the week- no exceptions."

"Yes, Miss Merryweather" the girls chorused in perfect unison.

The sound of scraping chairs, hob-nailed boots and quiet chatter soon died away to nothing as they left the room and turned down the corridor, leaving their potions mistress with only the company of the clock tick and the regrets which continued to plague her tortured mind.


End file.
